


A Honeymoon in Fog

by TwoDrunkenCelestials



Series: The Strangling Red String [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Lonely!Jon, Lonely!Martin, M/M, Romantically possessive!Jon, Strap-Ons, Trans!Martin, Vibrators, always a Lukas!Martin, bondage via clothing, briefly mentioned dom!Jon, briefly mentioned makeouts, demi!Jon, honeymoon sex, talk of other sex acts, the OC is their victim and that's basically it, trans!Jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:21:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27459391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoDrunkenCelestials/pseuds/TwoDrunkenCelestials
Summary: It's a Lukas tradition, build on the bodies of family, blood, the lost, and failed and surviving marriages. The couple's first hunt. It's time for Jon to learn what it means to be Lukas, and Martin is more than happy to help.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: The Strangling Red String [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988788
Comments: 5
Kudos: 59





	A Honeymoon in Fog

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fatal_drum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatal_drum/gifts).



> Happy birthday Drum!! I hope you really enjoy this! <3
> 
> Thanks to j_quadrifrons for the beta!
> 
> Words to describe Jon's anatomy: cunt, entrance  
> Words to describe Martin's: cock, cunt, entrance

"This is one of your family's homes?"

Jon sounds shocked but pleased as he looks across the rolling landscape. The smile on his face is soft, lovely, and Martin cannot resist leaning down to kiss it. Jon makes a little surprised noise before he kisses back, pouring all of his affection into the one shared second.

Around them is fog, a light one, that clings to the house. It's a phenomenon that's built over the generations, the house and surrounding area taking on more and more of the family's tendencies. 

It is easy to get lost finding this place if you haven't been invited; sometimes, even when you have, it can get  _ hungry. _ Several servants and spouses have been lost to the ancient home, and Martin swears that he's heard them once or twice on his few visits up here.

"Jon," Martin murmurs, soft, pulling their clasped hands up to his mouth so he can kiss the back of Jon's. The blush that creeps across Jon's face contrasts with the more washed out look he's developed as his connection to Martin and to the Lonely have strengthened. 

"Martin…" Jon says back, fondness and a bit of teasing in his tone as he turns it around on Martin and kisses the back of his hand.

When Martin looks back, and pulls Jon back toward the open door of the house, he smiles, wide and bright, at his new husband.

Martin has been waiting for his chance to use this place. It's a tradition in the family, meant to further prove one's devotion to the Lukases. It's been known to make or break a marriage: someone unsuitable might be consumed, while someone worthy might embrace the chill of this place and follow through with the second Lukas family tradition.

The couple's first hunt. 

It's supposed to be a moment of solidarity, a moment of someone else's sweet torment, while the couple basks in what they know their future holds. A game for the couple to play, feeding their dead god together with the strays who wander too close. And someone  _ always _ wanders too close. It's inevitable.

Jon doesn't know it's happening yet. It's a surprise Martin's eager to share with his husband, so new to the bracing cold of the Lonely. Martin can't wait.

_ "Ohhhhhh…" _

Jon's approval of the inside is plain to see. He has a bounce in his step, and a glitter in his eyes. He even follows the rules, ignoring the nearly unseen servant the Lukases have sent, who now carries their luggage through the door. 

The entrance way is big, rooms and hallways stretching out each direction. The pervading sense of  _ Alone _ is even louder, so to speak, in here. Jon closes his eyes for a moment, resting his hand on the banister that leads upstairs. He breathes it in, and Martin admires the flutter of his chest and the bliss on his face.

"Do you want to see the rest, love, or do you want to just take it all in?"

There's a certain amount of teasing in Martin's tone, but he is also completely serious about the offer. Martin had done the same thing the first time here, after all, so he can't blame Jon. With one last inhale and relaxation of his shoulders, Jon turns to Martin.

"Show me around? Surely you can offer me a proper tour, Mr. Lukas."

"Of course, Mr. Lukas," Martin assures, offering his arm like a Victorian gentleman. Jon takes it, giving an almost little bow, and follows him, husband and husband, arm in arm.

***

By the time they reach the master bedroom, Jon is sufficiently starry eyed. The gray elegance of the room makes the smile even wider. A strange-- and utterly adorable-- childish urge seems to overcome Jon as he dashes to the large bed and throws himself upon it. He bounces when he lands, sending small dust motes up and dancing in the air around him.

"I've always wanted to stay at a place like this," Jon admits, almost shyly, a moment later when Martin joins his grinning husband on the bed. "I always saw pictures of them in the books I read, and my gran even took me on a tour or two of homes just like this one. I always wondered what it was like, to be somewhere so...so old, so elegant, so far from modernity." 

The joy is perhaps a bit out of place in this house, but Martin doesn't care. He can't make himself care, when he's so focused on Jon and only Jon. His husband.  _ His husband! _

Jon pulls Martin down onto the bed to kiss him, pinning him down. Martin lets him, relaxing under Jon's control. Each kiss, each touch, is slow and methodical, like he's mapping Martin's body even through his clothes. 

"Mine, all mine now," Jon growls. There's a hint of playfulness, but it warms Martin all the same, even now, to know that Jon feels the same.  _ "My _ husband, marked by  _ my _ ring and  _ my _ vows."

"Always," Martin says, soft and adoring.

Jon intertwines their hands, shifting them so that they're pressed to the bed above Martin's head. He settles himself on Martin's lap, the layers of clothing between them almost too much for Martin. He can feel the stirring of arousal, low and warm in his gut, alongside the happiness he feels warming the rest of him from head to toe.

Jon, his currently pristine, put-together husband, stares down at Martin. The look in his eyes is curious, a small spark of heat beneath it. He doesn't always initiate sex, his interest sometimes a hardly a spark where Martin's is a fire; but when he does it's hot, a consuming sort of flame.

"I should make you eat me out, ride your face," he tells Martin, mouth curving into a wicked smile, "or I could grind down on your thigh until I come, and leave both of us messy."

Martin tilts his head, eyes still meeting Jon's. "Why not both? Strip down and use me and my clothes to get you off? I know you've been wanting to ruin something of mine in bed since the wedding."

Jon considers the answer, expression distant for a moment. "Mmm, perhaps. Either way, I have a surprise for you, too." he says, slipping off the bed and over to their bags. 

When Martin tries to move his hands, Jon whips around. "Hands where they are, Mister Lukas!"

"Yes sir," Martin says, coy, crossing his hands above him, trying to focus on the ceiling rather than guessing what Jon might have planned.

The soft swish of clothes has Martin looking to Jon as much as he can. Jon strips, efficient yet smooth, and Martin eyes the lines of Jon's body. 

"You look lovely, so, so lovely." He says, and Jon stops, looking over to smile. It's taken Jon a while to grow used to Martin's complements, especially about his body, and a tinge of red colours his cheeks. 

"Thank you, Martin."

He resumes undressing, and Martin savours the sight. That is, until Jon waves a finger at him. "Eyes up, I don't want you ruining your surprise."

Martin settles his eyes on the ceiling, and when Jon finally rests his weight on the bed, he sets something beside Martin. 

"Hold still," Jon instructs, undoing his clothing and sliding a curved toy to rest from on top of his cock to his already wet entrance. It's sort of smooth, and settles nicely against him. Jon does his trousers back up and pats Martin's covered mound. 

Martin squirms, letting a startled cry when the toy begins buzzing. "Jon," he huffs out, breathy, then Jon turns it up. Martin arches off the bed, and Jon pushes him down smiling down at him benevolently. 

"Just a bit more patience, darling."

Jon unbuttons Martin's shirt and pulls it over his crossed hands and arms, but no further. 

"I didn't want to get the rope out, so this will have to do, won't it?" Jon murmurs the words running a finger over Martin's nipple, light as a feather. Martin nods with fervor, doing his best to stay still under Jon's attentions. It's hard though, the vibrator sending pulses of arousal through him, warm and steady.

Jon's body is sinuous, smooth and calm as a predator ready to pounce as he climbs onto Martin and settles his cunt against the toy too. It's a bit awkward, but he soon settles.

Martin feels like he can't breathe, the moment suspended between them, the tension perfect and pure. He's a little hypnotised by Jon, sweetly trapped under his piercing gaze.

That's when the buzzing exponentially increases and Martin  _ wails. _ Jon bites back his own moan, and begins to grind, pressing harder. It pushes the toy harder against Martin and god, it feels so  _ good. _

"Jon, Jon, Jon," Martin moans his husband's name, over and over, like a mantra. Jon takes and takes, his eyes squeezed closed, head thrown back. He moans Martin's name in return, needy and high.

The sensations are relentless, like pounding waves, and Martin feels the coil of tension growing and growing. He arches up, trying to seek more, and his words slurring into some strange combination of Jon's name, and helpless cries of  _ please _ and  _ more. _

Martin's tipping point, blinding and white hot as the sun, is when Jon turns the vibrations up again and reaches down to twist and pinch Martin's sensitive nipples. The pain, sharp, mixes with the pleasure, and Martin spills over the edge, wild and quaking.

Jon doesn't let the sensations stop, riding Martin through his orgasm. The lines of his body are beautiful as Jon comes, and Martin aches to touch, despite the overstimulation that builds.

It's almost too much, but well worth it to see Jon, to hear Jon moan his name like it's the only thing that matters.

Martin's cunt aches when Jon shuts the toy off, and they both pant heavily, trying to gather their breath. 

"Look at that," Jon finally manages to say when he pulls off and shows the wet stain left on the front of Martin's trousers. He looks so pleased with himself and Martin's heart swells, overwhelmed by fondness and love. 

Martin almost wants to tease, tell Jon that he'll be the one doing the laundry. Instead, what comes out is softer.

"Can I touch you?"

"Of course." Jon assures him, pulling the shirt off Martin completely.

Martin wraps his arms around Jon firmly, pulling him close and kissing him over and over. 

"God, I love you so much." He says, and Jon smiles against his lips. 

"I love you too."

***

The next day is foggy, the chill hanging in the air delightful. Martin and Jon bundle up, Jon stealing one of his favourite of Martin's jumpers to wear.

Their breakfast, made together in the kitchen, is simple. Tea and toast, with some raspberry jam Martin had found in the pantry. It might belong to the servants. Martin doesn't care.

It leaves their kisses sweet, Jon and Martin both stealing them from one another as often as they can. They leave the dishes for the servant, and Martin calls back, telling the man that they'll be back around five, for their evening meal. 

Once outside, Martin adjusts the bag on his back, hearing the thump of the two thermoses gently bumping one another. He cringes a little, hopping the small blanket he's shoved in there will protect the biscuits and little sandwiches he's brought for their picnic. 

Jon is staring across the property, to the forest. He looks strange for a moment, like a bloodhound catching a scent, before he turns to Martin, smiling and taking his hand. 

"Where first?"

Martin smiles right back, and sweeps his arm out toward the forest. It's dense-- almost unnaturally so-- but beautiful, almost ominous looking. The fog makes it and the surrounding hills look like something out of a horror movie or a Victorian novel. Absolutely perfect for today, if Martin is honest. 

Jon's eyes light up, and that same light returns to them, though Jon doesn't seem to notice the subtle shift in his posture.

The walk there is peaceful, if a bit damp. It's quiet, too, the sounds seeming to be more distant than normal. There is no bird song, nothing, the rustle of wind at most. 

Jon doesn't seem unsettled. Martin isn't. In fact, Jon seems almost calmer, more at peace than usual. The bustle of the city and so many people is a bit draining to him these days, Martin knows. Sleepy confessions like that make Martin strangely proud, with Jon at his most truthful. They fit perfectly, and the family can only approve after this. Perfectly Lonely, just like the family's approved type of spouse. 

Well…  _ mostly. _ Jon is still too open and affectionate, according to one of his aunts, but Martin doesn't care. Jon is Jon, and Jon is his world.

The grin that slashes its way across Jon's face when they reach the entrance is beautiful, with a slightly sharp edge to it. Martin wants to kiss him, feel it cut him, feel Jon feed on the loneliness that Martin always carries within.

"Shall we?" Jon asks, and Martin feels like a giddy teenager again, the excitement in his veins a splash of warmth against the bracing cold around them. 

"We shall!" He replies, grabbing Jon by the hand and letting Jon lead him in with excited steps. 

The atmosphere shifts almost immediately as soon as they cross the threshold of the forest, the line of trees growing more faded, and seeming taller as soon as they're inside. Outside, while it was quiet, at least there was the sense of life somewhere, even if it was far away. In here, that's gone, the pure loneliness taking over and drowning out what little probably did exist in the area.

Martin can't help but relax, and Jon seems to as well. His shoulders lose any remaining tension, though his eyes remain hunter bright. 

"God, Martin, it's so lovely in here." Jon admits with a whisper, like anything louder would either disturb the peace or get consumed by the trees and fog.

"It really, really is. You can really feel my family's influence, can't you?" 

Jon nods, breathing the air in, his eyes darting around. He's taking it all in, Martin knows, and clearly enjoying every detail. 

"There's a lonely picnic spot up by a small stream somewhere ahead. The few times I came up, I spent hours near there just enjoying it." Martin says, shuffling the bag on his back again to readjust the weight. 

"Show me?" Jon asks, and the weight of Jon's eyes feels so good, so  _ right, _ like they're the only ones in the world. 

"Of course, love." 

***

They find the spot after about an hour of walking. 

It is as peaceful and beautiful as Martin remembers, the rock overlooking a small babbling brook. The actual water is hushed here, and the sense is almost stronger than the sound of it. Jon seems fascinated, and when he goes to check that out, Martin sets up their blanket on a large, flat rock overlooking the water. 

He sets out one thermos and pulls out a pair of travel mugs. Martin wishes he had brought a pair of delicate china tea cups instead; he had dismissed the idea this morning, not wanting to run the risk of breaking them. Later, he tells himself, when they're back at the house, curled up in front of the fire and satisfied from their hunt.

Someone is out here, with them. Martin knows it, like a distant alarm is going off, or a growl of hunger in his gut. Jon seems to as well, occasionally glancing off into the distance.

They haven't come across the person yet. But that's also what this picnic is for. A trap and a feast and a romantic moment all in one. 

"Come sit!" He calls to Jon, who's wandered a bit off to admire the small, lingering seasonal flowers.

"I'm coming," Jon calls back, and when he returns to Martin, he kneels and tucks a small forget-me-not over Martin's ear. Martin takes the other, smiling as he tucks the other over Jon's right ear. It looks adorable, and he pulls Jon in for a kiss, enjoying just knowing that this man is  _ his. _

They settle into their picnic, the conversation low and relaxed. Once, Jon tells a joke that has Martin burst into boisterous laughter, something that strangely doesn't break the reverent calm of the forest around them. 

At some point, the talking turns into kissing, borderline making out. Jon is settled on Martin's lap, smothering Martin in kisses and little bite marks. It feels almost  _ obscene _ in this place, and Martin delights in that. He feels like a teenager again, making out in a place that he isn't supposed to be, like they could get caught at any moment.

They won't, of course. Not by anyone that matters.

Of course, that  _ has _ to be when a man bursts into their little moment, looking ragged and terrified and relieved all at once.

The loneliness rolling off him is delicious, and Martin can't help his little shiver. Jon's attention snaps to the man, sharp, oddly fascinated. Admittedly, Jon also looks both embarrassed to be caught in such a position and eager, like a cat catching sight of a mouse while it's been grooming itself.

"Hello, sir." Martin says, his smile growing wide on his face, "You seem lost. Do you need some help?"

***

Jeremy has been lost for what feels like days. His intention had been to go for a simple day long hike; he had all he needed packed and ready. In the beginning, he hadn't been upset that the hike had stretched into a few extra days.

After all, he had reasoned, it meant that he didn't have to return to an empty house. It meant he could ignore the trinkets strewn across various surfaces belonging to his ex, pretend it never happened. 

When the trip had stretched into three days, he had begun to get worried. It was strange, like he just kept going in circles. With the signs of animal life fading into nothing, and the hush and cold settling over him, more he was certain something was  _ off.  _

He had tried to ignore the building panic, the sense of sheer loneliness that had crept over him in the long hours he spent despairing, trying to work out which path led him home.

So, when Jeremy stumbles across a couple in the woods, he feels relief was over him like a flood. He has never been so relieved to see another human face in his life. 

One of them speaks, and it takes Jeremy a moment to respond, forcing the words up and out of his throat. It feels like he's choking for a moment on the joy.

"Y-yes, please, god, I've been out here for days and have no food left, and-- and there's no animals…"

It's word vomit, like now that he's started, he can't stop. At the same time, he has this growing awareness of what he's interrupted; the picnic supplies, the leftovers of a meal and tea, and the intimate position that they're still in, even as they listen.

The man who spoke first is nodding, sympathetic. The other only watches, eyes focused-- too focused-- on Jeremy. 

Jeremy curls in on himself, abruptly shy. "I-I'm sorry for disrupting your date."

"It's alright," he's assured, "you're in trouble and I can't imagine how happy you are to find help. I'm Martin, by the way. Do you want some tea and a sandwich? We have one left."

The bigger man, Martin motions him over, and Jeremy stumbles over to settle near them on the rock. Martin's partner hasn't moved, just watches him, before snapping out of it.

"This is Jon," Martin says, kissing Jon once more as he climbs off Martin's lap. 

Jon takes one of the empty mugs, the one closest to Martin, and pours the still steaming liquid into it. His hands are cold, Jeremy can't help but note, as their hands touch when Jon passes the tea. 

It's Martin who digs for the food, placing it beside Jeremiah in a motion that feels...oddly pointed. 

Jon returns to Martin's side, and tucks himself up right beside him. He smiles beatifically up at Martin, and it's like a punch to the gut. Knowing, remembering what he's just lost, what he's running from, and seeing a mirror of it out here. 

He thanks the pair all the same, taking small sips and bites of the offerings. The tea, as warm as it is, does little to warm him up though. In a strange way, it leaves him feeling colder. 

It's the same with the food. Where he should be feeling some relief, he only feels empty. At least they don't ask him questions, just wait and watch him, and the surrounding landscape. 

The fog that's settled more fully over the forest in the last days seems to almost thicken, and sometimes, when Jeremy looks over the pair, they seem to fade away into it. The way they blend in, how ashy they seem, strikes an odd note, something almost discordant. Or, perhaps he's the off note here, disrupting what is clearly a very happy moment for them. 

The quiet bliss they radiate only makes Jeremiah's gut churn more, and it's only when Martin speaks, that he can focus on something other than how alone he feels.

"So, how did you end up out here?"

Martin's tone is friendly, gently prodding, and Jeremy swallows before he answers. "I- well, my ex girlfriend left me about a month ago; just up and walked out without a word of warning. I-I wanted to distract myself. Find my old love of nature again."

He hates how his voice quivers, how it just spills out of him. Martin nods again, his lips pulled into a sad, understanding little smile. Jon looks less so, but his eyes are on the ground. Strangely, from what he can see of them, both of their eyes seem a little brighter. It's not tears, but it's  _ something. _

"I'm sorry to hear that." Martin says, running a hand down Jon's arm and pulling him even closer. He presses a kiss on the side of Jon's head, and Jeremy shivers. He swears he can almost feel the ghost of it on the side of his head.

"At least you found us," Jon says, meeting his gaze. Fear, sudden and sharp, hits Jeremy, though he cannot explain why. These people are here to help him, they even offered their help, right?

"Y-yeah." He offers a shaky reply, and Jon smiles. 

"What a terrible thing to do to a person." Martin says, eyes focusing first in the distance, then on Jeremy himself. "To leave them high and dry and so  _ alone. _ Especially to someone they care about. I don't think I could do it."

Jeremy feels cold, so cold, like he's plunging into an ice bath. These two stand a world apart from him, don't they? So in love, with the glint of wedding bands peeking through their joined hands. 

"It's a strange sort of cruelty, isn't it? What drives a person to do that, just how alone in the relationship they feel do they have to feel to do that to another?"

Jon's voice sounds like it's coming from a distance, but his  _ eyes _ ...they feel heavy, like an anchor, dragging Jeremy down.

They'd be talking about marriage, hadn't they? He and Sara, talking about what sort of life they'd build together. Hadn't they? But then she'd just up and left, pinned a note to the bed for him.  _ Goodbye. I'm sorry. _

Tears spill from Jeremy, and choking sobs that he's been holding back for a month finally break free from their prison. Emotion after emotion hit him, wave after drowning wave make him ache and cry and scream.

There are no comforting words from the devoted strangers, just the agony, the knowledge of just how alone he is in the world now. The fog around is almost a comfort, cutting off his connections from the outside, cold and soft, seeping into his bones.

He cries and cries and cries, and when Jeremy comes to, his body aching from the sobs, he's alone again. All traces of the couple he met are gone, except for the mug he holds in his cramped, cold fingers.

***

"Jon, Jon, my Jon," Martin murmurs, pinning Jon to the bed. He's overwhelmed with lust, with affection, with  _ pride.  _ Jon can see it in every movement, every look.

On their walk home, Jon had never felt so alive, brimming with a new sort of energy and instinct. Martin had been handsy, kissing him every chance he could get. 

Now, he's finally towering over Jon, the light in his eyes so bright as he drinks Jon in. 

"Touch me, please," Jon begs, spreading his legs, aching to be loved, to be filled. He's already shaking, the twist of arousal building inside him. It promises to be powerful, leave him screaming and begging for another, and another, as many as Martin will give.

Martin nudges the head of his strap on against the entrance to Jons cunt, one hand playing with one of Jon's needy nipples. 

"Are you ready?" He asks, and Jon nods, fervent, his hands clinging to Martin's shoulders.

Martin slides home, stretching Jon wide and sweet. Jon cries Martin's name, and Martin his, and then begins moving. He thrusts slow and deep, taking his time to draw out every needy noise and  _ I love you _ like it's his due. 

When Jon comes it' s harder than he anticipated, his world going white. Martin follows him not long after, his cry high and wordless.

***

Perhaps it is Martin's due, Jon thinks, in the post coital bliss, as he stares up at Martin. 

His husband is still buried inside him, watching him right back, his expression overflowing with happiness. Jon holds Martin's weight, the pressure and fullness of his cunt a perfect sort of ache. 

"I'm so proud of you." Martin murmurs, kissing Jon's flushed, sweaty skin. "You did so well. And god, he- his loneliness was so good, wasn't it? So...so  _ filling." _

Jon cannot help but agree, feeling almost monstrous for a moment, in how he reveled in that man's agony. He understands now, though, why Martin is the way he is. It reaches the deepest, emptiest parts of Jon in a way that even Martin's love can't. 

Looking into Martin's eyes he realises that it isn't a bad thing. That Martin feels the same way. They have only one another, in this world, and it's only a step away to fully grasp what losing the other would mean.

Their god, dead or not, is a cold thing. That is the truth. The only warmth they have is one another.

That is all they'll ever need.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thank you all for reading this fic! I have a lot more to come, so please stick around. (I adore this 'verse, I won't lie.)
> 
> Also, feel from to come talk to me in tumblr at twodrunkencelestials! I'd love to hear your thoughts!


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